even as your world is burning
by sanskrits
Summary: — the earth keeps turning.


**for the QLFC, Season 6, Round 9:**

 **prompts —**

 **CAPTAIN: Molly Weasley**

 **wc (barred a/n): 1631**

 **huge thanks to my loves ca and adi for betaing!**

 **a/n: i feel like i've exhausted all my molly muse oof**

. . .

The world has been broken. Everywhere Molly looks has war and prejudice and so much blood. Too much blood.

The blood of foes, the blood of friends, the blood of family. The world has been broken in half, and a river of blood winds its way between the two sides of the chasm. Molly doesn't know how to carry on like this. How can she lead her family knowing that there's a gap in their formation? How can she be strong when she herself feels weak?

The first days after the battle are worse than the fighting. The death tolls are counted, the lifeless bodies are carted away, the funerals are planned.

How is she supposed to bury her son? Molly wasn't supposed to outlive her children. Molly wasn't supposed to live to see Fred going six feet under. Every time she looks at George's face, drawn and pinched, she sees Fred, and every time she sees the red hair of her family she thinks of the one head she won't be able to see again.

With wars, time is of the essence. Molly missed out on that — not only with Fred, but with too many others.

There wasn't any time to say goodbye. Molly would've liked to say goodbye.

. . .

 _May 3rd, 1998_

Everyone is quiet in the Burrow, even the ghoul living in the upstairs attic, and it's unsettling but simultaneously relieving. Molly doesn't think she can handle noise right now.

It's been a night. Molly has slept, clinging to Arthur much too tightly, and things, contrary to the old wisdom, don't seem any better. She's up too early and her eyes are too baggy and her legs and wand arm are a little sore. But she gets up anyway because she's not getting back to sleep any time soon with Fred's body, pale and cold and _not alive_ , flashing under her eyelids.

She watches the rest of her family, Harry and Hermione included, trudging out of their rooms the same way, with heavy eyes and heavier hearts.

The first day is the hardest. Molly doesn't know if she can do this, if she can get used to a house without Fred, without Remus, without Tonks…

Molly blinks back tears for the rest of the morning, and she sheds them in the shower. She has to be strong; she has to survive this. Her family needs her.

. . .

 _May 4th, 1998_

The second day isn't quite so bad, but reality begins to sink in. As the Weasleys all gather at the table, the absence of one redhead is much too conspicuous, and something snaps.

Ginny says quietly, "This isn't right."

"No," Ron agrees. "It's too empty."

"We — we can't do anything about it." Harry's voice is tired, hoarse, and barely above a whisper. Molly hadn't even noticed, too preoccupied in the post-war lull and disbelief.

"Could we just… move the chairs a little bit closer?" Hermione suggests. Her voice isn't as boisterous as it used to be, either. She's still the ever-authoritative Hermione, of course, but her voice has lost its sharpness.

"Let's do that," says Arthur. Everyone acquiesces, and there's a shuffle around the room as chair legs scrape on the floorboards.

Ginny surveys the table in front of her, eyes narrowed.

"There's still something missing," she says. The scene isn't quite right. There's something wrong about it, niggling at all of them, and Molly knows that Ginny knows what it is, but she won't say it. No one will.

George does, though. "Fred," he says, speaking for the first time in two days. He sounds much too tired. "Fred's missing."

And there's nothing to say to that; they're just going to have to get used to it. Molly doesn't want to. She doesn't want to admit that her son is gone; she doesn't want to admit that this is real, and that the gap between the people sitting around the table is always going to be there.

Molly tells herself she will pretend for one more day. Tonight is the last night.

. . .

 _May 5th, 1998_

Molly and Arthur have a funeral to plan.

Arthur's eyes are large and sad in the morning, and Molly already knows what he has in mind. Soon, they'll have to bury Fred. Molly doesn't know if she can do it.

She's definitely not ready to. She doesn't know how to. How does one bury a person they gave birth to? How does one go on without their presence in the room?

"I can't do it," she tells Arthur. "I can't, I just can't."

"I was hoping you would," Arthur replies sadly. (Everyone is sad nowadays.) "I can't do it either."

"Fred is — was —" Molly chokes on her words — "our son — we made him, Arthur, we — we made him, I — I can't, I can't do it, b — burying him!" There are tears blurring Molly's vision and dribbling down her chin, and this is _pathetic, pathetic,_ but it's alright because Arthur's crying too, and she can't see very well but she can hear him saying " _It's okay_ " in a choked voice. Arthur's hands find her waist, and Molly holds onto him like a lifeline. There they stay, clinging to each other like there's no tomorrow, sobbing, angry at the world for taking Fred, angry at the world for making them do this.

In the end, they get up again and dry their tears and get the funeral plans done. They have a family to take care of. And they might be hurting, but everyone else is hurting too, and they've taken their moment to cry. Now they need to form armor with their bodies and become everyone's strength.

Molly and Arthur have each other. Shoulders to cry on and hands to wipe away the tears.

. . .

 _May 9th, 1998_

Things settle into a kind of routine over the days. It's still hard for everyone, Molly imagines. It's a struggle to get out of bed. But they do anyway, and it gets a little easier.

They wake up and they eat lunch and they eat dinner and they go on with their lives. Going through the motions. Ginny talks about returning to school soon and and Hermione talks about getting their N.E.W.T. credentials. Harry and Ron think about joining the Auror program. Bill contemplates returning to work. Charlie's leaving for Romania in three weeks. Percy is starting back at the Ministry with Arthur by his side.

Life goes on. Molly watches. She's the only one who stays at home, and soon enough the house will grow empty in the afternoons, no one but the ghoul and her tea to keep her company.

Molly picks up her wand again and sets it to peel the sprouts. She might not be going back anywhere, but she knows it'll be just as hard for her to get back to herself. For the last few days, all their food has come from a restaurant because Molly couldn't bring herself to walk into the kitchen. But she's ready now.

She's not ready for tomorrow, not ready to officially say goodbye to Fred yet. But that's a bridge yet to be crossed.

. . .

 _May 10th, 1998_

Molly wrings her hands nervously, glaring at the black dress in front of her as if it's the source of all her life's problems.

They're burying Fred today. Saying goodbye. Making it real.

Molly doesn't know if she can do this. Molly doesn't know if she can carry on. Fred's blood probably still hasn't been cleaned out of Hogwarts. Spattered on the halls and mixed in with everyone else's, a dirt brown color, hardly distinguishable from the walls. Fred is just one more casualty. One more person dead. Molly hates it — she hates that her son was just another one biting the dust, just another tragedy to mourn.

He'd never been a tragedy. He wasn't supposed to be.

His body is already in a casket and she can only imagine him in there, cold and dead and lifeless.

He wouldn't have wanted this, wouldn't have wanted it to be so solemn. He would've wanted a prank or a funny song or something to make people smile.

But how can Molly smile when her joy is gone?

The funeral is simple, held in the backyard of the Burrow. They can't think of anywhere else they would even want to rest Fred.

Harry and Ron and Ginny speak at the service and say beautiful things about Fred — how he was, how he lived, how he made people laugh. How his legacy will be the one he always wanted to have — a happy one. How people will remember him someday and smile.

Molly holds a hand over her mouth when they speak and squeezes her eyes shut, as if this will easen up the clamp snaking its way over her heart.

Soon enough it's time to bury him. Molly doesn't watch the wand pointed at Fred's casket, nor does she open her eyes to watch it descending into the ground.

Harry gives her the shovel first. Molly steps over to the ground and kneels as if Fred can hear her from his position, dead and six feet underneath her, and whispers, "Goodbye, Fred. I love you."

She holds the shovel with shaking hands, and drops a little too much dirt onto the casket.

And as the crowd steps over to do the same, Molly's eyes grow drier, because deep inside her, she's realizing everything's going to be alright. It'll take time. But things will be okay. They'll pull through — the Weasleys always do.

Molly grasps Arthur's hand and holds it tightly, and she doesn't let go for a long time.

. . .

 _September 1st, 2017_

All is well.


End file.
